


Look Me In The Stars

by setoboo



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because it's Night Vale, Carlos Likes Children, Carlos-centric, Cecil is a Dork, Cecil shares Night Vale's views on kids, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Night Vale has messed up views about kids, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setoboo/pseuds/setoboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It means-” The Secret Police Officer stresses. “You can do whatever you want with the girl. Keep her, kill her, eat her. Preform some of the more questionable tests you usually need council-permission and a willing subject for. She's yours. Go wild, have fun with it.”</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>Or; the one where Carlos can't help saving kids in danger and ends up adopting a couple. Cecil tends to share Night Vale's strange outlook on raising children and this does not earn him points in the long run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If All The Soul-and-Body Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually really hesitant about about OC fics, but I have a thing for kid fics. (I love babies omg, I love them like...soo, sooo much). So Night Vale as a whole really throws me sometimes with it's blatant disregard for the lives of children (and everyone else, let's be honest.)
> 
> I love babies, and I love Cecil not being all smooth and self-controlled. These things collided. 
> 
> Many thanks to the ever lovely analogueAssassin, for helping me edit this.

Carlos is running for his life.

This is sadly not a new event, almost routine actually, but still. The point remains. Carlos is running for his life from a horde of bat-like creatures that give discordant shrieks that sound like a mash-up of glass breaking and the howl of hurricane-level winds. There is at least four of them behind him. Each one the size of a small SUV and colored in disarming shades of pastel pinks and blues, screaming and flying above the streets as they dive down to scoop people up in their strangely formed tri-split jaws.

If it wouldn’t likely get him killed, he would like to grab a few pictures.

There is at least a dozen people ahead of him. All of them are screaming madly and flailing as they make their way towards shelter and away from the Council-Mandated ‘ _Night Vale Semi Annual Picnic and Taxidermy Festival'_ in Mission Grove Park. Which had been going just fine, considering most the food brought was only semi-sentient and the stuffed animals were all species that Carlos had never seen before.

But then one mysterious contender submitted an unusual species of bat that she had painted in a strange tacky substance. A little later she had performed some sort of black magic rite that awoke the beasts from their not-actually-dead slumber and proceeded to sick the monsters on the picnic goers.

Carlos could still hear the lady laughing from the podium where she had been accepting her award for winning.

Ahead of Carlos is a family of four. The elder male is brunette and dressed like he escaped from the 80’s – Parachute pants, orange members jacket, and all. His wife, on the other hand, could have crawled out of a 50’s RomCom. Her hair is a startling white blonde, put into perfect victory rolls and secured with a shimmery blue sash that matches her blue and white pokadot dress. She has one thin hand wrapped around her son’s wrist as she drags the boy along insistently. The boy looks about ten years old and keeps darting his eyes back to look at the monsters circling above. Behind the couple is a little girl - and she can’t be more then five or six - struggling to keep up with the adult’s pace, wheezing and stumbling slightly as she sprints.

From above a shadow starts to descend, giving an ear-splitting scream as it dives.

Suddenly the father turns his head and darts his eyes up at the monster, then down to the wide-eyed girl. Still keeping up even as she clutches her side, obviously having formed a stitch from running.

Carlos’ own eyes widen. No – no way – the man can’t be about to do what Carlos thinks he is.

The creature's wings beat hard from above, and the hairs on the back of Carols’ neck stand on end as he feels each gust of wind formed by the flapping. But it passes right over his head, apparently aiming for a different prize.

The father suddenly turns around completely - running backwards for one precious second - and then there. In front of Carlos’ very eyes. Trips his daughter.

The little girl wails as she goes down. White blonde pig-tails bounce as she hits the concrete and dust coats her purple Night Vale Kindergarten tee-shirt. Her bright orange eyes are squinted against the pain of falling, and so painfully betrayed it nearly guts Carlos.

Her father spins back around, without pause or the faintest hint of remorse, and grabs his wife’s hand, forcing the woman and little boy too really start booking-it as the Bat creature falls upon the crumbled and crying little girl.

Carlos doesn’t even think about it at the time. And when he goes to think about it later he can only be very proud of his instinctual reaction, instead of lingering on exactly how stupid the move was.

The creature lands above the sobbing little girl. Who’s scrambling off the ground in a blind panic. Chittering loudly, and sounding like a discordant horde of birds, while the bat opens its’ tri-split jaw and starts to lean in.

Carlos reaches into his lab-coat and pulls out two scalpels. ( _He carries about six on his at all time nowadays_ ). And launches them both in quick succession at the beast in front of him. It’s only by a miracle _(one that he’ll need to ask Miss Josie about later)_ that one of the blades goes straight into the bat’s right eye. Which causes the pastel pink monster to rear back with a thundering roar and start scratching at the thin metal gouging deeper the more it moves.

The scientist darts forward and barely slows down enough to hike the little girl into his arms before he’s taking off again. She clings to him with white-knuckles and watery orange eyes, still staring at the enraged beast flailing behind them. He can hear the creature’s wings flapping wildly and something crash loudly, so he veers sharply to the left and starts to sprint down the the alleyway between two looming apartment buildings that have no windows, hoping beyond hope that the space is too cramped for the bat to get at them.

He moves the child up a little in his arms, noting absently she weighs nearly nothing, definitely not proportional to her mass at least, and eases one arm under her and the other across her back. She willingly goes where he moves her, and helpfully wraps her short legs around his midriff. Her light-up sneakers dig into the back of his coat. Then she tucks her white blonde head into the collar of his shirt and doesn’t look behind them anymore, shaking hard as painful sobs wrack her body.

Carlos would like to say something to comfort the child, but he’s busy using that breath to run. So he settles on weakly patting her dusty back and panting as he dodges garbage cans and cowering picnic goers alike.

Behind them, the screams and other-worldly roaring fades into the background. If Carlos strains his ears he thinks he can hear gunfire and a woman shrieking along with the bats in a terrifying unison.

He runs a little faster.

The apartment alleyway lets out onto Earl Road just a little past 4th street. Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, because none of the roads near Mission Grove Park directly connect to Earl Road, let alone basically dump him right into the parking lot for Big Rico’s Pizza. He should have been let out around Old Musk Drive, closer to 3rd Avenue and the Denny’s. He practically skipped all of downtown by going between those two apartments.

He makes a note to investigate the anomaly, but doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, making a break across the parking lot and barreling into his lab.

Carlos doesn’t let himself breath until he has the door locked (all four of them, including the deadbolt) and then pretty much collapses onto the floor. His legs are burning and his chest is aching like it had caught fire. The girl doesn’t let go, even as his arms fall like lead weights to the floor, too tired to keep them around her tiny form any longer. So she just lays sprawled across his lap as he soaks up the cold from the white tiles, trying to cool his overheated body through osmosis. Leaning back against the door, feeling sweat start to chill and his hair sticking to his forehead and neck as the A/C helpfully starts running.

Maybe he won’t get the electronic exorcized after all. Sentience can apparently be helpful.

He takes a good five minutes to recover. That’s all the time he allots anyways- if he was alone Carlos would have just passed out where he was laying. As it stands, he has his eyes closed and finally gets his breath back, though fire is still streaking through his veins.

He can’t stay on the floor though, the little girl is still shaking on top of him, whimpering pitifully and wetly against his starched collar. Sniffling loudly every few seconds, and Carlos has no doubt there is snot all over his lab-coat. Snot, tears, and sweat.

He cracks one eye open and looks at the child’s hands and knees. Both are skinned pretty bad from where she hit the asphalt, sluggishly bleeding and covered in dirt and dust.

So that brings the current tally of filth covering him to snot, tears, sweat, blood, dirt, and dust.

Carlos might as well just burn this coat.

“Hey,” he croaks, wincing at his own ragged voice. Tilting his head down completely, he forces his eyes open to look at the crying girl tucked close. “You okay?”

Carlos winces again, because holy shit. Did he really just say that? He has a doctorate for Christ's Sake, and despite it not being in child psychology it should be glaringly obvious that a five year old is not going to be okay after being sacrificed by her family to a giant pink bat creature. That is just common sense.

The orange eyed girl moves back slightly in response to his inane question, rubbing at the tears still falling as she sniffles and coughs. Her tears are shiny, like powder blue mercury, and her nose is running with a hunter green colored mucus that just doesn't seem natural. Definitely the wrong viscosity if nothing else.

It really says something about how much he's adjusted to Night Vale that his first thought is about getting her a tissue and not about collecting samples.

“Hurts.” she whimpers in response, after getting the coughing under control, practically shoving her hands into Carlos' face so he can see the damage done to them.

Carlos has to physically stop himself from crooning out some Spanish endearment and hugging the girl. He has a soft spot for kids, okay? It comes from being raised in a big family and having various nieces and nephews dropped on you all the time. It's just his natural reaction. An almost Pavlovian response to a child in pain. He can't help it.

But for real. Poor thing. She's obviously one of the unlucky ones with the ability to feel pain.

Instead of doing anything creepy ( _like calling her pet names or cuddling her shuddering body within an inch of her life)_ he gingerly reaches up with one hand and inspects the damage. The cuts don't seem very deep. Mostly superficial, but they are all an agitated red under the dirt and little bits of gravel that are still clinging to her palms.

“It doesn't look too bad.” He hums, turning her palms from side to side. “I'll get the First Aid kit and we'll have you patched up in no time.”

She sniffles, and then makes this breathy _'huh?'_ noise, looking at the scientist with wide orange eyes.

“Come on, we have to get up I’m afraid. The First Aid kit hasn't gained sentience yet so I have to go dig it out myself.”

He pushes himself off the floor, wobbling the whole time. The little girl continues to cling like a limpet. She’s very nearly weightless, but with just enough mass to make him feel off kilter the few steps it takes to deposit her on a stool.

She continues to look at him with big, confused eyes, scrubbing her nose on the dirty sleeve of her purple shirt.

Carlos manages to find the First Aid kit, still laying on the counter tops from the last use, and proceeds to dig through it for bandages and alcohol. Unfortunately, since moving here, antibiotic creams have been deemed illegal. So once he had run out of Neosporin that had been it, no way to get anymore without having to find the elusive Night Vale black-market.

Carlos winces at his supplies and makes a mental note to restock the kit with what he can. He's nearly out of – well - everything. Especially burn-cream ( _thankfully not banned yet_ ) and bandages.

So he grabs what he has available and a wet towel. Then makes his way back over to the child, who is picking at the skin on her hands and making the wounds ooze just a little faster with blood.

He wonders if the fascinated look she has is one shared with most children, or something entirely Night Valeian in nature. It's a toss up.

“Let me see your hands.” Carlos says as gently as he can, holding out his own palm so she can move at her own pace. It's been a while since he's seen his baby nieces and nephews, but one thing he remembers vividly is that all of them hated to be snatched at. It was the quickest way to get them to start crying.

She blinks eight times. Her blinking is slightly out of synch, so she always seems to have one eye at least half open. She moves slowly, body set like she's waiting for a strike, timidly placing the hand she was picking at in to Carlos' own.

“This might sting.” He cautions, trying not to be distracted by her blinking. The rag is warm and a little rough, maybe not the best for rubbing on such an agitated wound. But she only flinches at the initial contact. Otherwise, the little girl remains alarmingly still and watches Carlos' clean the scrapes with curious orange eyes, cocking her head in confusion when he moves onto her knees after re-wetting the rag.

“So...”Carlos mumbles, working as gently as possible on the deeper lacerations on the knees. “My name is Carlos, what's yours?” There, that seems safe, it's always important to introduce yourself. Plus it's just good manners. Even here in Night Vale where manners are sometimes so askew they might as well be non-existent, introductions are still a key part of conversation.

“Isabel,” she says promptly, seeming very proud of her name. She's smiling now, showing off her one missing incisor and the rest of her far too sharp teeth.

“A good name.” Carlos says instead of asking about the teeth, reaching into the kit for the alcohol now that he's cleaned the cuts of all the dirt and gravel he can see. “Can I see your hands again?”

“Are you going to keep me?” Isabel asks very suddenly, shoving both her hands at Carlos with all the speed and force of tiny bullets. The question nearly makes Carlos drop his rubbing alcohol all over the white tiled floor. She kicks her legs back and forth on the stool, face a mixture of excitement and mild terror. “I mean, please keep me? See! Mrs. Pearson taught us to say please when we beg and I use it all the time.” Isabel continues to babble “I promise I'll be really quiet, and I can feed myself, and do all my night-time chants alone. I know how to brush my teeth!” She says desperately. “So please, please, please keep me?”

Carlos opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He just stares wide eyed at the little girl for a good two minutes in stunned silence.

“Ashton!” He nearly shrieks after coming out of his stupor.“What is she talking about?!”

There is a loud sigh from outside the window. Which is cracked open just a tad since this week it's mandatory. “Carlos,” the voice says with a mixture of fondness and irritation. “You can't question me while I’m on duty. We talked about this.”

“Well, we'll talk about it again! After you explain why she's begging me to keep her!” He says, just a tad hysterical.

Isabel flinches at his tone, and he instinctually rubs the thumb on his free hand over her bony wrist to soothe her. Just like he would do with any of his families' children. He hardly pays attention to the motion, or how she melts into the contact with a fascinated smile.

“Thank the Elder Gods you're pretty,” The Secret Police Officer mutters, causing Carlos to roll his eyes and remain silent. Honestly, his looks may be one of the few reasons he has survived this long. He isn't going to diss them. Even if half the town only seems to like him for his body and not his brains.

“Is she registered as a _'Sacrificial Child'?_ Or listed as at least number two on the _'Which Of My Children I Like Best' board?”_ Ashton starts to question from the bushes, voice as dry as the desert they live in.

“Both!” Isabel pipes up helpfully.

“Was she sacrificed for any of the following reasons; Debt, Blood-sport, or in dedication to one of the Municipally Approved Gods?” The Officer rattles off, sounding both bored and like they are reading from a list. “And if it is the last one – which God?”

“Err...No. None of those.” Carlos answers this time, paling slightly as he digests all the things people here in Night Vale kill their _kids_ for.

“Then was she abandoned as a distraction from a physical threat, a mental threat, any Cosmic-Terror from the void or other acknowledged plane of abyss, Possession from a loved one, Possession from an _unloved_ one, the undead, or bears?”

“A physical threat, I believe – I mean - I didn't really get to check the corporeality of the bats. They appeared solid, but it's never good too assume with these things.” Carlos says, thinking about both the house that doesn't exists and the clock tower that does. Isabel is still blinking out of synch and messing with his fingers. He doesn't fight her prodding, even as she picks at his fingernails and callouses with interest. Otherwise, she seems only vaguely interested in the conversation.

“Right,” Ashton grumbles, and Carlos can faintly hear the pages of a book turn. So the Secret Police Officer is reading from a list it seems. “Did the distraction fail, or was she saved?”

“He saved me!” Isabel interjects before Carlos can say a word. “He threw a knife right into its' eye and killed it!” She enthuses towards the open window.

“I don't think I killed it.” He says, voice faint.

“I watched it crumble and die before we turned the corner! You killed it with one knife!” Isabel insists, orange eyes wide and impressed.

“It was a scalpel actually,” he corrects with a helpless grin. “And I threw two of them. First one only nicked it.”

“Nice, Carlos! First kill in Night Vale and you do it with an improvised weapon? That's ballsy.” Ashton makes a low, impressed whistle that sounds more like wind over the top of glass bottles then an actual whistle. Carlos isn't quite sure how he knows what it was meant to be in the first place. Add another mystery to add to the pile. “But that also means you slayed the beast that she was being sacrificed to. So technically she's yours to do what you want with.”

“Technically?” he parrots back. Technicalities in Night Vale can be dangerous, absurd, or both. It has a habit of going either way depending on what's been outlawed this week and the time of day.

“Yeah, if you had just darted in and grabbed her then her family could have argued for her back. Probably wouldn't have won of course. Pleading accidental sacrifice doesn't fly with the courts normally.” Carlos can almost hear the Officer shrugging. “But you killed the beast by her account, which makes the kid a prize and not a rescue. Different set of rules, you understand.”

“Pretend like I don't understand.” Carlos deadpans at his window. “And explain what the difference means.”

There is a loud _'uuuhhhggg'_ from his window and the distinct sound of someone hitting their head against the wall outside. Isabel giggles, and Carlos goes back to bandaging up the little girls hands while he waits for Ashton to stop muttering unkind things about Carlos' looks and profession.

“It means-” The Secret Police Officer stresses, “-you can do whatever you want with the girl. Keep her, kill her, eat her. Preform some of the more questionable tests you usually need council-permission and a willing subject for. She's yours. Go wild, have fun with it.”

“That's it? For real, I just...scooped her up off the road and now I can do whatever I want. I could kill her, and no one would do anything?” Isabel's eyes go wide, and panicked, as soon as the words leave Carlos' lips. “Not that I ever would of course. _Dios_ , no, I could never do that!” He hastens to reassure her, stroking the edge of her bandaged hands until she starts to relax.

Ashton coughs outside, and it sounds suspiciously like he says _'pansy'_ underneath the noise.

“That's the gist of it, yeah.” The Officer finally says after clearing up his fake coughing fit.

Carlos groans and grinds the palms of his hands into his eyes so hard that spots of color appear in the dark of his eyelids. He takes a deep breath and counts to five and lets it go, then does the same thing four more time until he feels calm enough to contemplate the insanity that has become his life.

He lets out the last deep breath of air and opens his eyes.

Isabel is staring at him with big, pleading, orange eyes, blinking out of synch and smiling hopefully. Her razor sharp milk teeth and the one missing incisor are just visible behind pale lips. Her legs are kicking back and forth, knees still unbandaged, and every time her shoes hits the middle rung of the stool they flash orange. Her shorts are an alarming shade of hot pink leopard print, and they are just as dirty as her shirt. Plus, one of her pig-tails is coming undone and her white blonde hair is spilling across her shoulders in wispy curls.

Carlos sighs, then smiles in the most self-deprecating way he knows how. Putting the rest of the bandages and alcohol back in the Med kit, he stands up from the crouch he had been in while working on her hands.

“Come on.” He says, gentle as he knows how, and opens his arms.

Unmindful of her new bandages or her still damaged knees, Isabel squeals and throws herself into his hold. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” she chants, nearly reverent into his dirty lab-coat.

Carlos shakes his head. Because this one of the worst ideas he's ever had. Second only to coming to Night Vale at all.

“I'll be good.” She promises, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I'll do everything right.”

“Well,” he says with a wry grin. Aimed at both Isabel and himself. “At least one of us will be then.”

 


	2. Victims Of Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out about the rest of Carlos' Scientists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A serious thanks to the ever lovely, analogueAssassin for helping out with the story. 
> 
> But mostly thanks for harassing me until it was done, and indulging me in a bit of Hobbit squealing.

When Carlos comes downstairs the next morning - far earlier than he normally would -  he’s greeted by a sight that has become all too familiar in the last few months of living in Night Vale.

On the far side of the lab is one of his last remaining colleagues, bent over a box and hurriedly shoving every unmelted rain gauge and electronic barometer they own into it. He’s making an obvious effort to remain quiet despite his shaking hands and exaggerated flinching at every noise that comes in the cracked window. Even though,at the moment,the most distressing sound coming through is some bird calls.

Carlos is pretty sure the whistling is coming from Ashton and not actual birds anyways. The Secret Police Officer gets a sick sort of joy out of terrifying them all, and does it whenever the opportunity arises.

“You too Nathan?” Carlos breaks the morning silence, disappointment practically dripping from his voice as he flicks the overhead lights on,

Nathan jerks up from where he’s hurriedly shoving an anemometer into the already overflowing box. His hands aregripped tight around the instrument like he plans to use it as a weapon at the slightest provocation.

The brunette man swings around, face pallid and eyes red like he’d either been crying or awake all night, only relaxing his grip on the makeshift weapon when he sees Carlos standing in the stairwell, and not the agitated talking snake from Tuesday.

“Carlos.” Nathan grimaces, placing the anemometer into the box at his feet. Looking away as fast as he had swung around, shoulders hunching under the other scientist’s scrutiny.

“You’re really going to take off.” It’s not a question. “Pack up and go, without even saying goodbye.”

“Carlos, don’t…” Nathan murmurs, shaking like a leaf caught in a tornado.

“Don’t? Don’t what!?” He hisses, stomping over to the slightly taller scientist. “You’re leaving just like Anne and Tim did. Up and out before I have the chance to talk to you.”

“At least they had the chance to get out!” Nathan spins back around, eyes wet and jaw grinding in repressed anger. “Every time you talk someone out of leaving they die!” He spits, grabbing another monitor and throwing it in the box without a care for how delicate the system is.

Carlos opens his mouth to argue, but Nathan cuts him off before he can even get a sound out. “Chris tries to leave; book sprays her with lethal gas,” The brunette hisses, tossing another instrument in the box before continuing on. “Andrew tries to leave; his pizza turns into a god damned Black Mamba and we find him dead in the parking lot.” Carlos winces at that one, remembering the sight of their geologist laying on the black asphalt all too vividly. “Then Sarah wants to go; she gets caught in the street cleaning massacre! Are you seeing a pattern here Carlos?!”  

“We knew the risk when we came here! Miskatonic told us all - in gory detail - just how dangerous this place was, Nathan. You can’t leave just because you’re scared!” Carlos nearly yells, the words coming easily to his tongue from repetition. It’s nearly the same thing he’s told every one of his colleagues.

“Debra’s dead Carlos!” Nathan wails, spinning back around to face the shorter scientist and revealing his teary eyes. “Those bat-things got her, so it’s just us now. We’re the only two left, and if we stay this town is going to kill us. So fuck Miskatonic, fuck the grant, and fuck Night Vale. You stay here and die if you want too, but I’m leaving.”

Carlos shakes his head, watching Nathan finish packing quietly. There’s no point to arguing with the distraught man, he’s firmly made up his mind. Even if he’s choosing the worst option out of the bunch.

“So what, you’re gonna catch the bus out of town?” He finally asks, leaning against the closest counter. The same one that Nathan has nearly stripped of all the Meteorology related instruments- the only ones left are the few that belonged to the university, and therefore been part of the grant. “Hop on the Greyhound and run back to Massachusetts? Tell the Dean we were wrong? It’s too hard?”

“Stop! Just fucking stop. I’m not going to crumble like everyone else did and stay.” Nathan hisses. Taping up his box and hefting it into his arms as he makes for the door. Carlos shuts his mouth so fast his teeth rattle, the knowledge it’s futile to argue not doing much to dissuade him from trying it anyways.

No one seems to understand though! Everyone didn’t die because they stayed in Night Vale - everyone died because they still wanted to leave it! The Dean had practically spelled it out to them before they received the grant money. If the team went, then they had better be ready to commit for the long run. Night Vale doesn’t like a quitter.

“Nathan - “ Carlos cuts himself off,  unsure of what to say to his colleague. Well, besides asking if he would prefer an open casket or closed. Since that’s just about the only question that will be important soon.

Nathan turns around slightly, glaring at Carlos like simply saying his name is an insult or death threat. The man’s watery red eyes go wide suddenly, staring at something in the back of the lab. A shrill scream breaking the silence as he points to whatever it is before bolting for the door.

Carlos looks over his shoulder, apprehensive, but much calmer than Nathan. When he sees it’s just Isabel coming down the stairs, he relaxes entirely.

Her hair is in a ponytail instead of pigtails, simply because Carlos doesn’t know how to do pigtails, and has only recently figured out the joys of ponytails himself. Her Night Vale Kindergarten tee-shirt and leopard print shorts were washed last night, but she has nothing else to wear at the moment so she’s had to put them back on. All in all, Carlos isn’t quite sure why her sudden appearance is causing the last of his team to have a crisis at the door.

“Nathan calm down -” Carlos says, moving towards the sleepy child who hesitantly holds up her arms in the universal gesture of ‘ _pick me up_ ’. He willingly obliges her, lifting her up and letting her get comfortable before moving towards Nathan. “-It’s just a little girl.”

Nathan nearly shrieks again when he sees Carlos coming towards him with Isabel in his arms. He finally manages to unlock the last of the four locks on the door and throws it open. Rushing outside without looking down, Nathan ends up falling over various boxes and trash bags piled up on the front steps in his haste.

“ _Dios_! Are you okay?” Carlos gasps, hastening to the meteorologist’s side, while a quiet voice in the back of his head wonders if the taller man is dead on the ground -- Night Vale having exacting its’ most swift revenge yet.

“I’m fine!” Nathan grunts, heaving himself up and proving he is very much not dead. “What is all this junk?”

“It’s all of the girls belongings from her previous family, as well as the Council’s ‘ _First Child Starter-Kit’_.” Ashton says from a poorly concealed spot in the bushes. One leg clearly visible from where they’re leaning against the wall of the lab. “Mazel Tov, Carlos”

If the Secret Police Officer’s tone got any drier it could probably start a brush fire.

Carlos rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the faint noise of some Pokemon game echoing from Ashton’s bush. If he listens close enough he can hear the officer hissing something about a ‘ _Dragonite_ ’ - whatever that is - and mashing buttons with a fevered intensity. But he’s mostly learned to ignore whatever Ashton is doing. Listening to someone telling whatever game they’re playing to ‘suck it’ a hundred times a day gets old quick.

“What?” Nathan gapes, staring at the boxes bearing the council’s seal like they conceal a bomb. As well as moving as far away from the bushes as he can while still being in legal range. No one else on the team besides Carlos has ever bothered to get to know Ashton, all of them avoiding the officer whenever possible to preserve the illusion of privacy. There is a distinct possibility that  this is the exact reason the Secret Police enjoys messing with the scientists so much.

“Well, just an assumption, but I would say it’s for her.” Carlos deadpans, gesturing to the child half asleep in his arms with a simple head jerk. “Considering it’s what Ashton just said.”

“Nope. Nu-uh. Done. I am so fucking done with this place.” Nathan spins around, picks up his box, and marches towards downtown and the Greyhound station. Not once looking back at Carlos or the lab.

About a block down the road a Hooded Figure starts to follow the fleeing scientist, and Carlos looks away.

“Sooo,” Ashton drawls, still tapping away at his game. “He’s probably not gonna make it another thirty minutes. Did he ever fill out forms C9-400 and C9-401?”

Carlos snorts, wandering over to inspect the items laying on his stoop, forcing himself to not watch the inevitable end of his last remaining colleague either at the hands of a Hooded Figure or in a bus accident.

“I doubt it.” The scientist answers, tallying up the boxes and bags. “No one was keen on making funeral arrangements I’m afraid.”

“Well, what do you wanna do with ‘em then? Up to you unless you’d like to release his body to Night Vale Community College’s medical wing. They could probably use him for something. Oh! You could give him to one of the churches as a blood sacrifice. It's tax deductible now, ya'know.”

“Cremate him.” Carlos says immediately. Purposefully downing out Ashton's talking as he does not want to know the legal actions necessary to write a dead person off as a tax deduction. “I don’t need his possessed and/or reanimated body coming back for revenge.”

Ashton hums in agreement, which is never good. It only happens when Carlos says something that makes _'sense'_ to the Officer, which usually means the Scientist has hit upon an all too real possibility when he intended a joke. “Good call. I’ll let the boys down at the morgue know.”

“Thank you.” Carlos answers in place of asking just how possible it is that the rest of his colleagues could come crawling out of their coffins and pull a _Day Of The Dead_ on him.

 He ends up setting Isabel on the ground, much to her obvious displeasure, and instead picking up one of the boxes gingerly. Waiting for something to come crawling out of it, or any other number of things that could possibly go wrong with such an innocuous movement. This _is_ Night Vale, and knowing his luck he needed to spin around four times and give a pint of blood before the boxes would accept being touched.

 Thankfully none of the boxes or bags revolt against being manhandled, and Ashton does not offer a comment about his intelligence. Usually a good sign that he hasn't done something stupid.

 “Come on Isabel, lets get these things inside.” Carlos huffs, stacking another box under the one he's already got in his arms. “Looks like you have plenty of rooms to pick from now.”

 Isabel grins eagerly and starts dragging one of the many black garbage bags inside. Practically skipping behind the scientist while humming what could either be a dirge or the School song.

 Carlos shakes his head, and hopes from here this day can only go upwards.


End file.
